


Dance of Kings

by Abby_Ebon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Belly Dancing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-16
Updated: 2012-06-16
Packaged: 2017-11-07 22:06:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abby_Ebon/pseuds/Abby_Ebon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A birthday fic gift for chaos_silk on LJ: Near East!AU, where in Sam belly dances for Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance of Kings

Sam could always be found at Dean’s side, ever since they were boys. If Dean was the day, the light of his father’s life and the son of the sun, Sam was the shadow between sunset and sunrise. So it was they called him shadow, the second son. Brother’s they were, but by the favoritism of the Padishah **,** king of kings for his first born, soon to be shah in his own right, none would think that their mother was not once the same lady of the harem.

With the birth of Sam, the lady Mary had died, and this fault of his birth, Padishah John has never forgiven him for. Four year old Dean was old enough to see the birth of his brother as a gift and bold enough to go into the chambers of the harem and demand of the wives and concubines and consorts, the mothers, aunts and the sisters, and the serving odalisque and eunuch to save his baby brother.

He was but a boy himself and the Shahdokht who ruled the harem, his grandmother, as fond of him as his own father – her only son. By her word and deed Sam had been saved, for his sake. For even the Padishah bowed to the wisdom of his mother – as it was writ: a mother's right is God's right.

Dean had saved Sam’s life, and what was more, Sam knew it too. There was a debt of life between them, and always Dean had been uneasy with it. He would rather have his brother not know, to not be reminded of that debt, let his brother forget, let it fade into history. It was not to be so, it remained the forefront of their lives, the debt, and it shaped and guided them.

Dean is thirteen when the concubine Kate gives birth to the third son of the Padishah; he names her Khanum, putting her above the wives of his daughters. It is something that makes nine year old Sam nervous and uneasy. He has trained all his life to be a warlord, to bodyguard his brother - so that Dean will never get his hands bloody with war and violence. For his life, Sam would make that trade, let his brother be beloved and know the peace of law and order, let him be the judge and jury – Sam will be the executioner.

Sam does not see this little brother as Dean does; someone to protect and nurture – to let grow strong. Sam fears childishly for the shah’s seat. This little brother, Adam with his fairer hair and bright blue eyes, is helpless now – but if he grows to threaten Dean, the Padishah’s heir, Sam will cut him down, will reap what sowed from his father’s seed, and gladly. So he smiles for his elder brother, who holds the babe, and follows in their footsteps, wary and watchful.

+*+*+

At twenty six, Dean becomes the Padishah, naming twenty two year old Sam as Khan-i-Khanan, lord of lords, the commander-in-chief of the shah’s army on the dawn of his birthday. It is an honor Sam celebrates with his brothers, with feasting and drinking in the outer palace chambers of the selamlik. It is the drinking he will rue come dusk.

 “Brother, why do you not give me a title?” Adam asks, slurring his speech as he leans onto Dean’s chest, embracing him, his words are hushed, but Sam hears and narrows his eyes.

“You are shahzadeh, little brother, is that not enough?” Dean’s chest rumbles with laughter as he fondly pets Adam’s hair. His nose rumbles up, childishly. His eyes are bright as he glances to Sam, his smile playful and his cheeks flushed his lips red with their drinking. Always Sam is Dean’s shadow, and Adam has always rivaled with him for the affections of their eldest brother.  

“Sam is made khan, am I do be nothing?” Adam is pouting, as only a thirteen year old youth can get away with. “You, little brother, can be anything.” Dean reassures, with a kiss to Adam’s cheek, Sam is aware that they are alone, the women having long gone into the innermost oda of seraglio –the heart of the harem, now only Adam could find sanctuary there, not yet being sixteen - his mother now foremost of the Shahdokht.   




“Would you grant me a sultanate?” It makes Sam uneasy, Adam asking for a dynasty and ruling title for his own, so early. Is Adam is already testing Dean – or teasing? Dean laughs, joyful and indulgent.

“Is that your desire?” His voice is hushed, the desert night chilling, and the hearth burning low. Perhaps that is the reason Sam shivers.

Adam yawns, and stretches, tipping Dean down on the cushions, curling upon him as if he’s a cat.

“No, for then I would be alone.” Dean holds him one armed around the shoulder, and they wrestle playfully until Adam’s hair is disarrayed by Dean’s knuckles.

“Then a wife!” Dean teases, and Adam’s look is as appalled as any boys at the thought of tying himself down to a girl. It is Sam’s turn to laugh, if not kindly, at least honestly. Dean shares a small smile with him.

“Ew!” Adam cringes away from Dean, as if the threat is real. He sees Dean’s smirk, and stills, reassured that the Padishah is not serious.  Dean pushes him away, and it is something of an irony that Adam goes swift into the sanctuary of the seraglio, where his older brothers can not follow.

“You favor him too much.” Sam says softly, a warning that he is not slow to give.

“You favor him not at all.” Dean replies, with a roll of his eyes.

“A Shahzadeh will always seek to rule. He is a youth now, what will you do if he grows in power to challenge you, my shah?” Dean is silent, and sighs.

“Brother, you command my army – would you betray me?” Sam sits still and silent, stunned. Dean moves into his personal space, cupping with his strong hands Sam’s head. He brings their foreheads together, staring into his brother’s eyes. It’s for a moment like looking in at a stranger’s eyes.

“Never…!” It’s a hiss of protest to the depths of Sam’s being.  

“What makes you so sure Adam will rise to do so?” Dean asks, still soft, still gentle.

“He…he…” Sam’s shoulders slump, never has Adam given Sam a reason to be wary. He simply always has been.

“He will grow to be Sultan es-Selatin: I will always be Padishah, and you my Khan. It is meant to be.” Sam will rule the ranks; Adam will take rule of the people, and Dean always will be the law over them all. It is comforting in a way that Sam will never say.    




“Love him, brother – as you love me – and he will grow into a brother to be proud of.” Dean kisses his forehead, and smells strongly of the sweet drink. Sam knows he is drunk when he speaks.

“As you love me, shah…?” It is hushed, and at first Sam thinks Dean does not hear or understand, but he hovers over Sam, watching him. He is suddenly as wary of Sam as Sam has always been of Adam. It hurts.

“Always.” There is something painful and sharp in Dean’s words, almost a promise. Dean stands and staggers away. Sam watches after him, and smiles.

+*+*+

Her name is Josephine, there is a possibility that she is their sister, for it is fact her mother was a concubine of Sam’s father. She thinks otherwise, and her feelings for his brother are not sisterly, even though Dean only feels the love for a sibling for her.

It is not enough to dissuade Jo. It is from Jo, that Sam learnt the raqs sharqi. It is a dance combining style with seduction, and it is a way to tell a story with the body. The purest from of body language, for the body can not lie, it is a believed where words fail, where there is no other faith.

It is Dean’s twenty seventh birthday when Sam dances the raqs sharqi. He does so in his brother’s private chambers, rising with the dawn, his movements mimic the shadow his people call him fondly after. Skittish and slow, then the sway of his hips, the kick of his legs and the twisting of his body at daybreak, his breath coming in pants - aware that Dean wakes to this dance, these movements.

This is a truth that Dean can’t deny, the way Sam’s body makes him feel.

It is of beginnings and endings that Sam’s limbs sing for, a fluid grace from hip to spine, flexing chest and shoulders, and when Sam’s gaze catches his brother’s he shimmies and shivers between chest and hip.

Dean’s mouth opens, as if he would speak, his eyes wide, Sam can hide nothing, for there is nothing for him to hide behind.

Sam dances with hip thrusts and an eager bending of his spine to his brother’s bed. Dean greets him with a kiss, reverent and as eager as Sam could wish. His hands caress his sides, stroke his chest, the play of those strong hands on his body has Sam aching. He does not fight when Dean pushes him onto his back, and kisses low, tongue tasting quivering flesh.

Sam is silent, afraid words will break this, that it is a spell.

Dean makes him dance, with his mouth upon Sam’s flesh, the wet and soft and hot swallowing him down, hardness wrapped in that mouth and those lips. Sam watches it, wide eyed and wanting.

His eyes flutter shut, as he gasps and pants for his brother’s clever tongue and finger tips.

Sam’s own hands curl into fists above his head, clenching onto the sheets as he begs with his body, wordless.

Sam cries out only when his body demands it, gasping and shuddering for his brother’s eyes alone. Dean widens the fingers between Sam’s buttocks, flexing them within, asking for more – willing, no, eagerly parts his thighs. Dean fits between them, near perfectly, as if Sam is made for his pleasure and together they dance.

Dean thrusting over him, into him, back and buttocks and thighs bending in time to a beat their body knows. Sam’s toes curl, his feet flexing and twisting, as he gasps and tries to breathe while pressed down into the bed, smothered by his brother’s passion.

The sharp bite of his brother’s teeth on his neck is bliss. Sam sobs out another release, as his body sings and seduces. In an ordinary day, Sam wields the swords and blades of a warrior’s trade, yet in this act he is his brother’s sheath.

Dean shudders his release above him, skin of his belly shimmying.

They lay side by side in silence, hands clasped tightly, until the rest of the palace awakes.


End file.
